Take Me to the River

by Philip Quinlan

Take me to the river,
we can jig it with a fiddle,
you can wash me down with moonshine
in the swim, nightwaterwise.

Pickle me saltsilver
till my skin begins to cinder;
let the phosphorescence linger
and the tingles hypnotise.

Rosin up your fingers;
bow my sinews till they splinter.
Lick me luscious with some ginger;
let me garlic in your thighs.

Iíll be given to the river;
Iíll be washed up by the noontide,
scraped and fiddled, spiced and sunrised,
pickled, moonshined down to size.

If I shiver, blow my smoulder;
if I silver, gold me over,
give me river weather fever.
Let my quinine be your sighs.

Charm me chili pepper chipper;
tease my lemon zingy-zesty.
Yeast my yearning till it leavens;
feel my fever, tidal, rise.

A   A   A